The Journals of a Saint
by Lamb in Wolf's Clothing
Summary: Baisically, it's the journals of Saint Dane. It begins where Bobby's do, but gives insight as to what Saint Dane is doing, and how he's getting around and all of that. Rated T because of possible suggestive themes of violence and death.


Disclaimer: Everything, (which includes characters, places, names of places, the main plot, etc.) except the fact that this is from another characters point of view, and that characters thoughts, belongs to D. J. MacHale. Those aforementioned things do NOT, in any way, shape, or form, (even if I HAD wanted them to), belong to me. They belong to D. J. MacHale. NOTE: the fact that some of the things people say have been directly quoted form the book for accuracy.

A/N: (Thank Ela for editing this! She gets to think of all the words that I can't remember at the time!) Now that that's over… hah! I am writing this again. Yes, again. I know it says I haven't any other stories, but I DID. Glares at whoever decided that her Tolkieny Sentences should be removed from the site. I may just have to bring those back…. Anyway, I did think this up about a year or so ago, but had to change it, and fix it. Now that it's fixed, it can go back up. Who better than me (for reasons that only my dear friend Ela knows) to introduce this to the world? Enough talk. I now present you with…

The Journals of a Saint 

Journal #20

My dearest,

It is infinitely irritating waiting for others to make a move. It is in these slow moments that my thoughts tend to drift back to you. Always to you, my beautiful dove.

I would go on about those things, but that can all be done when I see you next.

I met the boy. Or rather, he met me. It was all a big show, really. I still cannot believe that Press was so dense he couldn't see through my act. As for Bobby, it is laughable that he is to be the lead traveler when Press dies. He's so utterly clueless. However, with the right guidance, he could become a force to be reckoned with.

After leaving the castle via the flume in the tak mines just below the castle, I waited for Press in the train station. It was mostly deserted except for a vagrant that appeared to be sleeping in the corner. I wanted it to be perfectly obvious who I was, so I chose the disguise of a Second Earth law official, with deliberate and blatant inconsistencies of uniform. Of course, as unobservant as Press is, it took him a while to notice anything was wrong. Press and the boy nearly ran into me before I ordered them to halt. While Press tried to figure out who I was, the man in the corner decided to speak up. His speech was slurred as though he'd been drinking.

"Peace! That's all I want! Little peace, little quiet!" the drunkard barely managed to say.

Press still hadn't put the pieces together. Perhaps the sudden appearance of the homeless man confused him.

"I think you two better come with me," I told them, bringing the focus back to myself.

The old tramp continued, inching ever towards us. "Castle!" he screamed. "This is _my_ castle! I want you all to-"

Press interrupted him. "What? What do you want us to do?" He probably thought the homeless man was me!

"I want you all to go away! Leave me alone!" the vagrant continued. This made Press finally understand.

Dripping with overconfidence, Press turned to me and stated, "You don't know this territory, do you?"

"You! I'm talkin' to you! I want you out of my castle!" cried the old man. He was becoming a nuisance. An idea formed. I would make my point to the boy and get rid of the pest all in one action. It was almost too simple.

I smiled at Press, feigning interest, and replied, "What was your first clue?"

"The uniform. City cops in this territory wear blue, not khaki." Obviously, Press didn't understand my sarcasm. "I'm flattered though. You came yourself."

The homeless man decided to speak again. "That's it! That's it! If you don't git now I'm gonna-"

I pivoted quickly and fixed my gaze upon him, pure hate flowing from my eyes. He stopped dead and began shaking. He let out a chilling scream, that of a man who had seen the deepest pit of hell itself, and ran for the tracks, throwing his mortal body in front of the oncoming train. Both Press and Bobby flinched and turned away. I kept my eyes trained on the man through the entire incident. As the speeding machine destroyed his soul, a pleasurable shiver traveled through my blood. The whole moment was all rather amusing, the horrified look on Bobby's face and the pained expression on Press's.

"That was beneath you, Saint Dane," Press said.

Who was he to say what was or was not "beneath me"? All I did was awaken the demon in the corner of his mind. "Just wanted to give the boy a taste of what is in store for him." Now that Press had figured out who I was, I dropped the silly pretense and transformed into myself. As soon as I was finished, Press pulled out a gun, and shoved Bobby behind a bench and told him to run. The poor boy was still in shock from the events of the past few minutes. I decided to pull my gun as well.

"Bobby, the door! Watch out for the quigs!" The child was clueless; he didn't move. Press began shooting at me, so I took shelter behind a pillar.

Bobby still wasn't moving. I figured he might need some encouragement so I shot a tile near his head. That lit a fire under him, but I continued shooting just behind his head to keep him motivated. It was really all I could do as Press kept me in check behind the pillar. I'd just have to wait this one out, but no matter. I'd done what I'd wanted with them. I waited for Press to take his leave before attending to my business elsewhere on the territory. It didn't take long; I doubt Press wanted to leave the boy alone on Denduron any longer than necessary, especially considering the beautiful quigs I left waiting for them.

What I intended to do was pay a visit to Bobby's best friend, Mark Dimond. If I guessed correctly, he would be the one receiving Bobby's journals, but I had to make sure. I headed to Stony Brook Junior High at the appropriate time. Just before I arrived at the school, I took the form of Andy Mitchell; Mark's worst enemy. Dimond was an incurable introvert, spending much of his time in seclusion. I discovered that one of his favorite hiding places was a lavatory on the third floor of the school. That was as good a place as any to explore.

Fortunately, he was there, but he had closed himself up in a stall, so I waited.

"Jeez, you been in there a long time, Dimond. Everything come out all right?" I asked him when he finally left the stall. I imitated the boorish laugh of a teenage outcast.

"I'm f-f-fine," he stuttered back. He stuttered when he was nervous. I was certain he had the journals, and the only possible place he could be keeping them was in his backpack.

"It's cool. What you do in the privacy of the can is your business," I told him nonchalantly, and switched gears. "What's in the pack?" I inquired innocently. He clutched his backpack. They were definitely in there.

"_P-Playboys._"

I couldn't help but grin at the irony. Mark must've been the most socially inept and least sexually developed kid in that school, trying to pass the journals off as _Playboys_.

"You dog." My lascivious smile widened. "Lemme see."

I reached for the pack, but Mark kept it close to him and backed towards the door. "S-sorry. I'm late," he explained, and then ran out the door. This was perfectly fine with me. He had already confirmed what I needed to know, but I had no time for rest just yet. It was almost time for the transfer ceremony on Denduron, and I couldn't be late for that. It would be rather special this time, because I knew Bobby would be there.

_Please review! Sorry if it was a little short. Remember, a journal doesn't end until it says "End Journal insert number here"_


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